


Hours of Darkness

by Loremaiden



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Book: The Hound of the Baskervilles, Community: watsons_woes, Nightmares, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 19:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1869360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loremaiden/pseuds/Loremaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Avoid the moor in those hours of darkness when the powers of evil are exalted.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hours of Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to JWP #27 (Like Gold To Airy Thinness Beat) on Watson's Woes.
> 
> Like Gold To Airy Thinness Beat: Pick up the book you're currently reading (or the closest one to you). Pick a random page, and find a description or simile. Use that - and be sure to tell us what your original description is, and what's the source.
> 
> I was inspired by this description from Dr. Seward in Dracula-- _"I feel like a novice blundering through a bog in a mist, jumping from one tussock to another in the mere blind effort to move on without knowing where I am going."_

The mire surrounds me, a perpetual morass in all directions. It stinks of foul decay. I dare not move, for fear I will sink into the swamp or attract unwanted attention. And so I watch in helpless horror as some misshapen shadow drags the ravaged corpse of Sir Henry into the murk.

I cannot take the time to avenge or mourn him or even curse my own incompetence; I must keep moving. _Keep moving!_

For if the mire doesn't claim me, then the Hunter and his Hound will certainly attempt to.

The fog is thicker than a London Particular and it blinds my sight, but I pray it will also shield me from the creature that is hunting me down. I know I must remain silent but yet I call out my friend's name. Was Holmes not here by my side a few seconds ago? _No, he is safe. He is back home in Baker Street, where your blundering cannot bring him to harm._

The Hound answers my cry, howling for my death.

I know not where I am going; my sense of direction has disappeared along with my courage. Still, I run and I run and I run, but the thick muck gets into my very blood and slows me down. Time seems to lag to a crawl. The image of the tussock in front of me, an island oasis of _terra firma_ , only moves farther out of my reach for my desperate efforts.

I look around wildly for another tussock, one that I can manage to get to, but before I can change course a mesh net falls upon me. Its heavy weight makes me collapse face-first into the ground. The ooze pours into my mouth and then my throat, stifling my screams.

A sharp kick to my ribs sends me sprawling onto my back. The moon curses my vision with just enough light to see my tormenter looking down upon me with a clinical air, the Hound patiently waiting by its master's side.

I pull my revolver from my coat pocket, but the hunter stomps on my wrist, pinning it to the ground with his boot. With the patience of a medical professor demonstrating proper technique to his students, he calmly pries the revolver from my shaking fist and slowly peels back each finger, leaving my hand wide open...

An impossibly large butterfly pin pierces my flesh and fastens my hand to the spreading board...

 

I wake up in my familiar bedroom bathed in sweat, frantically wiping nonexistent mud off of my face. It takes several long minutes for me to fully come to my senses and rejoin reality. Determined to deny Morpheus the opportunity to drag me right back into the Grimpen Mire and Stapleton's clutches, I rise from the bed and lean on the door.

Eventually I notice the sounds of Holmes' violin downstairs. The tune is soothing, but I can sense a hint of anxiety behind it as the musician makes a few misplayed notes. I deduce that I was not the only one who was plagued this night with horrifying alternatives from the successful Baskerville case.


End file.
